


tell me how to feel (tell me how to lay this down)

by hellstrider



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiot boys tripping over their emotions, Insecurity, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, One-Shot, Slightly fucked up dynamics, because it's Billy Hargrove c'mon now, but it always ends soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: those blue eyes keep leavin' him to followother people.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Comments: 15
Kudos: 362





	tell me how to feel (tell me how to lay this down)

**Author's Note:**

> based on a post i made on tumblr a while back. i'm slowly shippin' my tumblr fics over here! enjoy.
> 
> tumblr: billyhargrovens
> 
> title from skin and bones by ruelle

_"C’mon_ , Hargrove, like you _mean it,_ I’m fuckin’ fallin’ _asleep_ down here,”

And it _hurts_ , it hurts _so fuckin’ bad_ , and Steve’s aching down in his _marrow_ when Billy grips his hips in brutal hands, brutal hands he’s seen rip a demo-dog’s maw open, uncaring of the needles that broke the skin, and,

Steve feels a little like those needles got left behind when Billy grips his hips, grips ‘em _hard_ and fucks into him from behind until Steve kinda wants to _cry_ with it,

Because Billy fucks into him like he _hates_ him,

And Steve thinks, thinks Billy _might,_

‘Cause those blue eyes keep _leavin’ him_ to follow _other people.  
_

And look, Steve _gets it_ ; he knows Billy _loves_ workin’ him up, loves the way Steve gets _bratty_ , gets _needy_ , gets _angry_ , but _lately_ \- lately, it’s been every other day insteada every other week, every other month, and Steve had gone to pick Billy up from the pool and Billy had -

_He’d -_

He’d been leaning against the wall near the locker rooms, all but cornering one of the cute new chicks at the pool workin’ the summer away, and Billy had given her one of those _smiles_ , the smiles Steve thought were _just for him_ , and something insida Steve _had kinda,_

 _Broken_ , a bit,

‘Cause _here’s the thing;_

Steve _gets it,_

And he kinda _encourages_ it, he knows that, knows he fuels the flames, because he gets _cling_ y when he’s jealous, and the first time it happened, the first time Billy had winked at someone else and shot them that mega-watt grin, Steve had clambered over the console of the Camaro as soon as they pulled up to his house and straddled Billy right there, fucked into his mouth with his tongue, and,

From there it had been a kinda _game_ between ‘em, the kinda game that would get Steve so worked up he’d let Billy fuck him like he _hated_ him, let him pull his arms behind his back and use him like he was some cheap whore in a motel, and it was always _so sweet_ afterwards, when Billy would hold him _tight_ and brush kisses over his brow, would stroke over Steve with those fuckin' brutal hands all scarred up from ripping through a demo-dog for daring to even _think_ of one Steve Harrington, 

_Y’know,_

The kinda shit Steve thought was _worth_ breakin’ for,

And he _gets it,_

‘Cause this is a monster _he’s_ been feedin’,

But he’s _stupid_ in love, _so_ stupid in love, and Billy Hargrove never really learned how to fit that word insida his mouth, so Steve’s kept it under his tongue, kept it _quiet_ , ‘cause the _last thing_ he wanted to do was to chase Billy away with how stupid in love he is,

And now, those blue eyes are _leavin’ him_ to follow other people,

And lately it’s been every other day insteada every other week, _month_ ,

And Billy fucks Steve like he _hates_ him, every time this happens,

Because Steve lets him, because the afterglow is so _sweet,_

And he’s so stupid in love that he’ll take _whatever_ Billy Hargrove deigns to _give him,_

But,

This time,

This time is _different,_

Even though Steve’s curled up right next to Billy in the bed Steve’s started to think of as _their’s_ , as Billy sits against the headboard and smokes a cigarette - and he always does, after shit like this, smokes and then pours that burnin’, tar-coated shit into Steve’s lungs when he holds him _so_ tight, pulls him right back together after breaking him in so many fine ways - and Steve’s laid out on his back right at Billy's hip, and everything smells like warm skin and cigarette smoke and _them,_

And Steve thinks his least favorite thing in the world to feel is _fear,_

Because it chews through him like acid right now, like bile, like some _Upside-Down_ kinda bullshit, and his nose wrinkles a bit and he rubs at his eyes and Billy slides a hand over his chest, scratches gently at his sternum, purrs, " _right_ here, baby," 

_And,_

It’s gonna take more than golden arms wrapped tight, _tight_ around Steve to pull him back together this time, because -

_This time,_

This time is _different_ , ‘cause Steve had showed up at the pool to take Billy home, and Billy had been givin’ that new lifeguard the grin Steve thought was _just_ for him, _so_ ,

“You can _tell me_ , y’know,” Steve says, sex-hoarse, raspin';

And it _comes outta_ \- outta _nothing,_ everything, nowhere, _everywhere_ , a culmination of months of holdin’ love under his tongue so he didn’t scare Billy away, because Steve’s _gone_ on him and he _can’t lose him_ , but he _also can’t_ \- can’t keep _doin’ this,_

God,

_Please,_

He just _can’t,_

And Billy’s gently scratchin’ at his chest, _gently_ , 'cause those brutal hands are learning how to be gentle, all for Steve, but Steve can’t quite _feel_ him, can't meet those blue eyes, ‘cause lately they’ve been followin’ _other_ people more than they’re gouging through him, and Steve feels a little like an open wound edged in salt as he swallows against a lung-packed throat,

“You can _tell me,_ if you - you’re getting, like, _bored,_ with me,” and the words feel like broken glass comin’ outta his lung-packed throat, and Billy’s hand goes still, and Steve’s an open wound bleeding _salt_ , “I’m not - I’m a big boy, Hargrove, you can be _straight_ with me, man,” _and,_

Then Billy makes a soft, _growling_ kinda sound, and Steve’s lungs and heart are battling it out for space in his _goddamn throat_ , and then Billy’s sliding over him, cigarette crushed out on the nightstand, and Steve’s just wanted those blue eyes focused on _him_ but now that they are _he can’t_ \- he can’t fuckin’ _hold his shit together,_

And,

Billy runs a hand over Steve’s hair, pushes it back, _and then_ \- and then he _kisses_ Steve, kisses him in that toe-curling, gut-punching kinda way, the way Steve just, _melts_ for, _dies_ for, and Steve is _helpless,_ so fuckin’ _helpless_ as he slides his hands up Billy’s arms, the arms that normally pull him right back together,

But it’s gonna take a _little bit more_ , this time,

If Billy deigns to _give_ a _little bit more_ , this time,

But Steve’s _stupid_ in love, 

So he’ll take _whatever_ smoke Billy Hargrove feeds him,

Will hold that tar-coated shit like _love_ under his tongue,

And then Billy’s sweeping a thumb under his eye _and -_

“I’d lose my goddamn _mind_ without you, Bambi,” Billy murmurs, _right_ against Steve’s ear, and _he sounds_ \- sounds the way he had after Steve had nearly gotten ripped into by a demo-dog, when Billy had ripped the thing apart with his bare fuckin’ hands despite the needle-teeth that left scars on his palms,

When he’d curled around Steve on the couch in Hop’s cabin, afterwards, curled around him despite the rugrats and everyone else bein’ there, held him so tight it was like Billy was tryina tuck Steve behind his damn _ribs_ , and,

Steve can’t _not_ kiss him, can’t _not_ turn his head to catch Billy’s lips with his own, can’t _not_ drag the taste of him over his tongue, can’t _not_ cling to him, cling like he’s gonna _lose_ him, but he can't breathe, can't breathe, and even though Steve's eyes are shut, all he can see are those blue eyes, the blue eyes that keep _leavin_ ', and,

“You’re _shakin’_ , Cherry-bomb,” and,

 _“Shit_ , baby,” and,”

“Fuck, _Stevie,_ I -”

And,

Then there are lips pressing right, _right_ under Steve’s shuttered eye, so _soft_ , so _gentle,_ and Steve’s so goddamn _angry_ , angry and _terrified_ and so _stupid_ in love, and he kinda - kinda wants to _shove_ Billy _offa_ him, wants to shove him _away_ and, and, fuck, _run_ , or something, _but -_

Then there are lips against his jaw, against his throat, his lung-packed throat, the throat that can't quite fit air through it, the throat that holds love _so_ secret, so _silent_ ,

And then there are lips trailing over his shoulder, 

Skating across his collarbone,

Snarling lips, sticky, clinging, over his chest, pressing hard and _fierce_ right over his heart,

And then there are needle-scarred hands curving around Steve’s ribs, the ribs that _ache_ to hitch and jump with the furious hurricane of sobs Steve refuses to let go, and,

Those scars are from when Billy literally ripped a demo-dog’s face open when it tried to bite through Steve’s throat, and Billy had held him _so tight_ , afterwards, bloodied hands splayed over Steve’s spine, and he musta been hurtin’ somethin’ _bad_ , but Billy had held Steve so _tight_ anyway, and,

What if he _never_ holds Steve like that _again?_

And,

_Fuck,_

Jesus,

_Christ,_

_“Shh_ , Bambi, you’re alright,” and Billy’s voice is sideways, _Upside-Down_ , and Steve’s eyes _burn,_ and as Billy nuzzles at his throat, a groan shatters _right_ in two inside it, and Steve’s _shakin’_ , shakin’ as he slides _desperate_ hands into those golden curls, 

And Billy sucks a bruise over Steve’s rabbit-weak heart, holds his ribs with those brutal, ripping hands, the hands learning how to be gentle, 

And what the _fuck_ kinda love _is this,_ that makes him so _stupid_ , so _desperate?_ The _fuck_ did Billy Hargrove _do_ to him? It’s like Steve’s fulla _shattered glass_ , so fine it _refuses_ to cut through his skin but so sharp it scars his bones, and Billy’s the one who shoved it into him, and _Steve can’t_ \- can’t get it _out_ , and,

Steve kinda _hates_ him, kinda wants to shove him away and _run,_

_But,_

Then Billy’s kissing him again, and Steve surges up into it, choking on the rough, “ _Billy,_ ” that shoots up through his chest, and it’s a _desperate_ kinda thing, because this is a _desperate_ kinda love, the love Steve’s _suffocating_ on, and then one of Billy’s needle-scarred hands cups Steve’s chin, and,

Those blue eyes _pour_ over him, lance _through_ him,

And,

Steve puts his tongue to his molars, swallows _hard,_ tries to shove his heart back where it’s supposed to be, and Billy’s brow furrows as he, _just,_ just, _looks_ at Steve, looks at him with the eyes that’ve got Steve thinkin’ he’s gonna _leave_ , leave and follow _someone else_ , leave Steve stranded in the _dark_ , breathless and numb, and,

Billy doesn’t _say_ anything,

Just looks at Steve, looks _through_ him, _right_ down to his glass-scratched bones,

And then Billy’s kissing over his cheek, kissing down over his jaw, and those scarred palms slide down to grip Steve’s waist as Billy noses under Steve’s ear, worries the skin there with gentle teeth, and impossible, _feverish_ heat _whips_ through Steve’s body, throat to stomach, and it coils up _right_ at the base of his spine, and he’s half-hard, _hating_ it, 'cause he's numb where his heart lives and he feels - feels as if he's been stripped _bare_ in a way he's never been before, 

And Billy smells like clove and cigarettes and cologne, like sweat, like sex, and the air’s _thick_ with it, because Billy fucked Steve like he _hated_ him, and when those hands slide over Steve’s hips, it _hurts_ , ‘cause they’re _bruised up_ , all bruised up in the wrong way, ‘cause Steve had wanted Billy to fuck him like he _hated_ him, _and_ ,

Steve hates _Billy_ a little, right now,

But he’s also _so stupid in love,_

 _Lost_ in it,

 _Never_ wants to find his way _outta_ it,

And then,

Billy’s sliding his mouth over Steve’s chest, licking softly at a nipple until those bruised hips roll in the clutch of those scarred palms, and Billy _rumbles_ , low and soft in his gut, and it feels - feels like _praise_ , feels like the kinda praise that drips so sweet down Steve’s spine, makes him dewy-eyed and weak-hearted, and,

It’s not fair,

Not fair that Billy Hargrove gets to make him this _weak,_

Not fair that Billy Hargrove gets to _break_ him open,

Not fair that Steve’s _stupid_ in _love,_

Not fair that he _can’t_ be the one to _let it go,_

Not when -

Billy parts his lips over Steve’s stomach, laves at his skin with that pierced tongue, kisses his way to Steve’s ribcage, drags his teeth over the bone like he might be able to taste ‘em that way, and Steve squirms, whines, “ _tiger,_ ” ‘cause he’s _mad_ ticklish, but Billy just holds those bruised hips _harder,_ presses down _tighter,_ cages Steve to the bed,

Not when -

Billy kisses over Steve's chest, murmurs a quiet, " _hold onto me_ , Cherry-bomb," and Steve _does,_ slides his cold hands into Billy's wild curls even as he thinks he hates Billy, a little, right now, and Billy hums out more wordless _praise_ ,

Not when -

Billy sucks three bruises into the jumping cage of Steve’s ribs, and now Steve’s fully hard, is _drippin’_ a bit, and Billy _growls_ , growls ‘cause he can _smell it_ , and Steve’s lungs are still balled up in his throat, thighs quivering with anger and fear and need, a need that normally only comes after a round with the Upside-Down, after he watches Billy rip a demo-dog open with his bare fuckin’ hands, and,

What is _devotion_ if it’s not that kinda shit? 

What is _devotion_ if it’s not the way Billy rips through the monsters that come for Steve, rips ‘em open _regardless_ of the way they break Billy in return,

And Billy's _always_ breakin' the monsters that come outta the dark to try and dig their teeth into one Steve Harrington,

So why the _fuck_ are those blue eyes chasin’ other people?

And Steve’s _angry_ and _needy_ and _confused,_ and his eyes burn and he’s not a _gentle_ crier, not like Billy, and by the time Billy’s sunk low enough to put his lips to the bruises he’d burnt into Steve’s hips, Steve’s chest is _hitching_ and he’s got his forearm pressed to his mouth _and -_

“Let it _out_ , baby,” Billy murmurs, scarred palms sliding down Steve’s shaking thighs, and he sounds the way he does when he’s threatening someone off'a Steve, that low, _growling_ kinda smoky shit; “let it _out_ , Bambi, _c’mon_ , lemme _hear_ how I _fucked up_ ,” and,

_That’s not -_

It’s _not what Steve wants,_

Because Billy’s been punished _enough_ in life, he thinks,

But Steve’s _hurtin’_ somethin’ _wild_ as Billy kisses over his hips, lips like healing, like breaking, and, _yeah_ , that shit at the pool had been _fucked up_ , and it’s _fucked up_ that Steve _encouraged_ this kinda game, _fucked up_ that Billy ever _started it_ in the _first place,_ and,

Steve’s stomach _hurts,_

And no one’s _ever_ made Steve Harrington cry like fuckin’ _Billy Hargrove_ has,

_Ever,_

In his _life,_

And that’s how Steve knows he’s _stupid_ in love,

The kinda stupid that doesn’t _ever_ go away,

Even _if_ Billy _does,_

And that’s _unfair,_

So goddamn unfair,

And Steve lets out a harsh, grating, _hateful_ sob, one shaped around a groan of, " _fuck you_ ,"

And,

 _“That’s it_ , Cherry-bomb, _c’mon_ ,” and,

Billy _sounds_ about as good as Steve _feels_ as he skates his lips over Steve’s thigh, stubble burning _so_ sweet, and then Billy sucks a bruise on the inside of his leg and Steve's hips twitch of their own accord, cock jumping against his aching belly, and he's got his arm slung over his burnin' eyes, now, like he’s tryina _hide_ from all of it,

And maybe he _is,_

But then Billy’s warm, _golden_ body is sliding back up over him, and a brutal, _gentle_ hand coaxes Steve’s arm away from his achin' eyes, and another gentle, brutal hand slides over Steve’s jaw, thumb smearing wetness over the swell of Steve’s cheekbone, and his brow is furrowed _tight,_ knotted up over his blue, _blue_ eyes, and the memory of his kisses burn like little coals he's dropped from his tongue over Steve's body, 

And Billy’s hard against Steve's hip and his lips taste like saltwater when Billy melts their mouths together, melts 'em together as he slides _tentative_ fingertips down Steve's arm, like he knows Steve's contemplating just _shovin'_ him away and _running_ , and then those scarred fingers curl around Steve's wrist, thumb to his pulse, and Steve's stupid heart _aches_ to surge through his chest, aches to _bare itself_ to those _blue_ eyes, the eyes that keep letting him go to follow _other people,_

And Billy breathes, _pleads_ , “hold ont’a me, baby,” so Steve _does_ , slides his arms around Billy’s neck, bruised, quivering, bruised thighs gripping his hips, and Steve holds onto Billy with everything he's got, even as he wants to shove him away,

And, _Jesus,_ it _hurts,_ hurts when Billy sinks back into him, _hurts_ even as it’s so _slow_ , so _sweet_ , so _careful_ , and the aching moan that shakes outta Steve’s bones threatens to take his spine out with it, _but,_

Even if it _hurts,_ it’s _all_ Steve wants,

Because then Billy’s murmuring, “I’m _right here_ , Bambi, always gonna be _right_ here, you _know_ that, know I’d go fuckin’ _crazy_ without you,” and,

 _“Look at me_ , Stevie, _c’mon_ , you know I’m _right here,_ ” and,

 _“Baby_ , lemme see those eyes, _c’mon,_ ”

And,

Billy’s eyes are _so_ bright, so fuckin’ _blue_ , bluer than the summer sky, and Steve’s so _stupid,_ so in _love_ , so fuckin’ _angry_ with it, and Billy rolls his hips, rolls his hips and it _hurts_ , burns, but it feels _so fuckin’ good_ , and Steve whines, _keens,_ weeps pre over his belly,

“You’re _such_ a fuckin’ _asshole,_ ” Steve manages, voice like a wrung-out rag, and Billy’s smile is _soft_ in the way that makes Steve’s heart, _just,_ go to dust, “ _you can’t_ \- can’t have _me_ and _them_ , Hargrove, _you,_ you gotta _choose_ , I can’t _do this,_ I can’t do _that,_ I can’t be - _be like that_ , won’t fuckin’ _share you_ ,” and,

It’s all just,

Comin’ _right_ out now,

And Billy’s fucking it outta him with gentle, gouging thrusts,

But it’s not _fucking_ ,

And then Billy’s snaking an arm around Steve’s waist, is gathering him _up,_ up _close_ , gathering him up into his lap as he sits back on his heels, and Billy cups Steve’s chin, rolls his hips into his body, rolls his tongue into his mouth, and Steve holds _tight_ to those golden shoulders, _and,_

It just keeps _comin’,_

Shit like,

“If that’s the kinda _shit_ you _want_ , you gotta _let me go,_ ” and,

“I _hate_ when you look at other people, I _hate it,_ ” and,

“I just want you to _want me_ ,”

And, 

_That one_ comes out all _horrible_ , all _mangled_ , all _stupid in love_ , and Billy presses their cheeks together and moans, “fuck, _Bambi,"_ and,

Steve’s _needy_ and _angry_ and _confused_ ,

Until,

“Always gonna be _right here_ , you know me, you _got me_ ,” and,

“I'm _no good_ at this shit, baby, but _you gotta_ \- you gotta _know_ , Stevie, know _that I_ \- I don't want _anyone_ , anyone but _you_ ,” and,

“They don’t mean _shit,_ they _never_ do, it’s _only you,_ ” and,

Billy’s hands slide over Steve’s back, palms scarred with proof of _devotion,_ because he got those scars rippin’ a demo-dog open, regardless of the pain, regardless of the way he bled, the way he couldn’t hold _shit_ but Steve for _two weeks,_

And,

If _that’s_ not _devotion_ -

Then what _is_ , is;

Lips against Steve’s ear,

The fullness of Billy between Steve’s thighs,

Those golden arms caging him in _tight,_

And a _gritty_ , pained, _terrified,_

_“I love you,_ ”

Right, _right_ against Steve’s ear,

And,

Steve’s been _keepin’_ those words under his tongue, _hidden away_ , ‘cause he didn’t wanna _scare_ Billy away with it, because love’s never really fit in Billy’s mouth, is better kept between his hands, in the way he rips through monsters with ‘em for Steve, gets scars _all_ over ‘em for it,

And _that’s_ devotion,

But _so is;_

“I _love you_ , Bambi,” and Billy says it _right_ in his ear as he fucks soft and sweet into Steve, as he holds Steve _tight,_ as diamonds drip from those blue, _blue_ eyes and roll over Steve’s shoulder, down his chest, and Steve _can't fucking breathe_ , is _so_ stripped bare, and the words hit his _bones_ , hit his bared, aching, _stripped out_ bones, and,

_The thing is,_

Everything with Billy has started with a _fight_ ,

From the fist he put to Steve’s jaw the night everything rearranged itself under their feet,

From their first kiss, bloody and bruised in a hell-tunnel, where Billy’d been held captive for _three days,_

From their first fuck, right after the _horrible,_ grating battle they fought gettin’ _outta_ that hell-tunnel,

And it’d been a _fight_ , getting this confession outta Billy,

‘Cause the way Billy fucks Steve after givin’ other people the smile Steve always thought was just for him is kinda like a fight, definitely bruises like one, and Billy’s been makin’ eyes at other people every other day for a little bit now, insteada every other week, every other month, _and,_

It’s all been leading up to _this,_

To a gut-wrenching _I love you_ , breathed _right_ against Steve’s ear, 

And Steve’s struck dumb as Billy lowers him back to the sheets, face buried in Steve’s throat, like he’s tryina _hide_ from it, and they _both_ have been, and Billy’s been runnin’ away in little ways so Steve gets _needy,_ gets _angry_ , gets _confused_ , so Billy gets to fuck Steve like he _secretly loves him_ , gets to break him open and pull him back together, 

Like Billy’s declaring he’s the _only monster_ that’s allowed to _break_ one Steve Harrington, and he _is_ the monster that breaks Steve, but he’s _also_ the one that fixes him right up again, and he’s the monster that breaks Steve but he’s also the monster that rips through demo-dogs with his _bare fucking hands_ , all for Steve, ‘cause _no other monster_ is _allowed_ to break him,

_Just Billy,_

And he _does,_

But he doesn’t _leave_ Steve like that,

And if _that_ isn’t _devotion_ , then Steve thinks devotion just, _doesn’t exist_ ,

And he’s _shaking_ as Billy kisses over his throat, leaves no fuckin’ spot untouched, as he bows over Steve to lave his tongue over a nipple, as Billy fucks into him so _slow_ , so _sweet,_ and it _hurts_ but it’s the _good_ kinda hurt, and the pressure at the base of Steve’s spine _feels_ \- feels some kinda _holy,_

And that’s how Billy’s _touchin_ ’ him, now, fingertips tracing the bruises he’s bitten into Steve’s ribs, his _heaving_ , jumping ribs; it’s how Billy touches him as he molds his hands to the shape of the bruises on Steve’s hips, _and,_

It’s how Billy _looks_ at Steve as he looms over him, the sun over the sea, and it’s how he _moves_ inside him, a silent kinda hymn singing where they’re joined up tight, and Steve grips Billy’s wrists, some kinda _desperate,_ and Billy lets go of his hips to tangle their fingers together, some kinda _possessive_ , some kinda _claiming,_

And it’s some kinda _holy,_ some kinda _desperate_ , some kinda _Upside-Down_ , some _right-side-round_ , and Steve’s so in love it’s _stupid,_ and,

“You _know_ ,” Steve moans, and Billy bites his bottom lip, a groan rolling behind his teeth, brow furrowed so tight, eyes so soft; “you gotta _know,_ know I _love you_ , you _gotta know_ I _love you_ so much it’s _stupid_ ,” but,

It’s not,

Not even _close,_

And Billy _laughs_ , laughs breathlessly as a tear cuts down his cheek, and then his head falls back as he _moans_ like he’s in _rapture,_ and he feels _so fuckin’ good_ , hurts Steve _so sweetly_ ; Steve tugs at Billy’s hands then, _needing_ \- needing, just, _him,_ all over, as _close_ as he can get, and his cock is _aching_ and he’s been bruised and worshipped _, and,_

Billy kisses him in that toe-curlin’, gut-punchin’, helium-lunged kinda way, and Steve’s floating, _floating_ , as Billy circles his dick with a scarred up hand, and then Steve’s blurting, “oh, _fuck,_ oh, _god_ ,” and his vision goes _white_ , then _black_ , and Steve’s vaguely aware of Billy’s _gravelly_ , throaty keen as his hips stutter one, two, three times,

And,

 _Now_ ,

Now they’ll pull _each other_ back together, will probably spend the rest of the dewy summer evening tucked up in their own little world, and it’s the _best_ kinda world, the softest, most _savage_ kinda world, and it’s the only kinda world Steve can live in, now, ‘cause it’s _Billy Hargrove’s,_ and Steve’s _stupid in love,_

So stupidly _sweet_ in love,

And Billy rolls ‘em onto their sides facin’ each other, and Steve’s fucked-out and bruised up, and _he just_ , he just - _melts_ into the sheets, into Billy’s chest as a strong, golden arm slides under his waist to draw him in _close_ , impossibly _close,_

And a brutal, _gentle_ hand brings Steve’s fingers to that wicked, _snarling_ mouth gone sweet, and those _blue_ eyes, red-rimmed, _brilliant_ , are fixed _right_ on Steve, _glued_ on him, true north on their compass rose, as Billy brushes his lips over his knuckles, _and,_

Steve’s _all_ fucked-out but his stomach goes so _hot_ with the way Billy’s _watching_ him, watchin’ him like he’s gonna _devour_ him, and his heart’s settled back in his chest but his lungs are helium-light as Billy all but purrs, “I’m _right here_ , kitten, only ever gonna be _right here_ , right with _you,_ ” before he drags Steve into a kiss that he could _die_ happy inside of,

And their legs tangle under the blankets, and Steve’s fingers get all wrapped up in the golden chain around Billy’s neck, and Billy splays a _possessive,_ protective, _brutal_ hand in the dip of Steve’s spine, holds him _so fucking tight_ , holds him _together,_ and,

“I love you, tiger,”

And,

“Would go _crazy_ without you, Bambi,”

And Billy’s eyes are _right,_

Right on _him,_

**Author's Note:**

> songs:  
> dusk till dawn - zayn & sia  
> skin and bones - ruelle  
> don't lose love - quintino & afsheen, feat. cher lloyd


End file.
